Donut Holes
by nubianamy
Summary: Drabbles and story prompts from the Donutverse. I needed a place to put my non-explicit Donutverse stories (those go in the Kinky Ways series). Includes all Donutverse characters and OCs, gen and non-explicit slash, with references to sexual situations and BDSM. May include spoilers for the Donutverse series.
1. Nothing More Than Pure Insistence(Davis)

_Davis goes to London to get away from his life, and has an encounter with a certain familiar dance instructor. Backstory for Davis Lawton and Toby Grey._

February 2005

Being in London without Carl felt a little like exile. It didn't matter how beautiful his surroundings, or how posh the hotel; Davis knew why Carl had bought him the ticket. _You need a change of scene,_ he'd said. _Some time to clear your head before we decide what to do next. _

He'd honestly thought they'd been pretty careful to keep their leather activities out of the view of the public eye in Cleveland. They seldom did anything local, preferring playing with the community in Columbus. But the threatening letter from his recent case's defense attorney was specific enough that Davis could tell the guy had actual dirt on them. Or at least on him; it didn't get specific about Carl, and he supposed he could have been playing with one of any number of guys. Regardless, the letter's message had been clear: drop the case, or they would out him to his firm.

Davis brought the letter to Carl right away. Even if they weren't lovers anymore, he still depended on Carl for perspective on matters like these. When it applied to his own life, his judgment tended to fall away. Carl had listened, and held him while they discussed it, and in the end they'd come to the same conclusion. He wasn't going to be jerked around by a threat, and he wasn't willing to risk being outed either. He'd submitted his letter of resignation that afternoon.

So now, here he was, out of work for the first time in nine years, struggling through the morass of impending depression, which Carl hadn't been able to spank out of him. His answer was to put him on a plane with admission to the Royal Academy of Dance's master class. _You need to do something other than feel guilty,_ Carl had said. _You need to dance._

The dancing was almost more depressing than anything else, considering how out of practice he was, but it was exciting, too, in a way. Dancing in London was a bit of a dream come true, even if wasn't because he'd made it or anything. He'd have some memories to take back with him to Ohio.

And, apparently, some of them were going to be associated with one of his instructors. On day one they'd split into pairs to work through pliés and tendus and degages. The man with whom he'd been paired had turned out to be not from London at all, but from a school in Denver — and even then, his accent had surprised him.

"Hard to take the Kentucky out of this boy," he'd drawled in the midst of rond de jambes. It had been enough of a kick to get Davis to invite him out for drinks afterwards, mostly (if he was being honest) to listen to him talk.

But he'd turned out to be genuinely interesting. They'd stayed up too late laughing about theater and dance; Davis had talked about law school and he'd talked about his dog. Eventually their fingers had brushed, and Davis had had to have The Talk with him.

"I don't actually do anything vanilla," said Davis.

The man laughed, running a thumb across the back of Davis' hand. "You'll have to define that more specifically for me before I get scared off. I've done a lot."

"Bondage. Pain. Control." Davis tried to look matter-of-fact, but the guy's smile was doing things to his rational brain.

"I can be into that stuff, darlin'."

"That's not the same as wanting it for yourself."

Davis watched him consider this, swirling his drink in on hand. "I'm not sure it's up to you to decide what I like. In fact, if I read you right, I'm pretty sure that'd be up to me."

Davis smirked, but he couldn't deny the words made him go a little weak. "You're not wrong, but… you're making some pretty big assumptions. What if I don't want it from you?"

"If you didn't, we wouldn't be here. And, darlin'…" He bit his lip, eyes dancing. "_Everybody_ wants it from me."


	2. Sanctuary (Klaine)

_(Author's note: This is a scene that's been in my head for a while, and getting it out has been an ordeal. It might not make any sense to you, especially if you haven't read There's An Awful Lot of Breathing Room, or if you haven't read the spoilers in Dance on a Narrow Ledge, but the story needs to be told. Eventually this will fit into the course of the Donutverse. Chronologically, it takes place during season 2, after 2x4 Duets, while Puck is in "juvie." The song that inspired this story, by the same name, has a playcount of 114 on my computer. Wow, Klaine in the Donutverse. Let me know if you have questions, and enjoy. -amy) _

* * *

Carl silently held the door for Kurt, letting him enter first. He grimaced, glancing around the coffeehouse. "She moved things around."

Kurt chose a quiet table in the corner, away from the stage and the counter. "What?"

"The tables. It's a new configuration." Carl watched the empty stage, his face uneasy. "He's not going to like that. It's going to throw him off."

Kurt wanted to refute this statement, wanted to say with confidence _no, Blaine's not like that._ The fact that he couldn't was enough to make him want to turn around and climb into the Navigator and drive back to Lima. Kurt didn't know him anymore. Whoever Blaine had been over the summer, the boy Kurt had fallen in love with wasn't going to be the one on the stage. He thought he'd been prepared for this, but the longer he waited, the more he knew just how bad this was going to suck.

"He's struggling," said Kurt, and stopped at the look on Carl's face.

"He's broken," he said quietly. "Make no mistake about it, Kurt."

Kurt dropped his eyes to the table and took a long breath. He couldn't say anything.

Java the Hut was still mostly empty, but people were starting to filter in. Whatever else he was at the moment, Carl had said Blaine still knew how to fill a room, and he couldn't doubt _that_ was true. He had enough intel from Jeff to know Blaine Warbler was still performing beautifully, impeccably, heartbreakingly. It was just that nobody else knew the rest of his life was as much an act as that was.

"Come on," said Carl, beckoning him along. "What are you drinking? Finn said something sweet and chocolatey."

"Grande nonfat mocha." Kurt smiled. "I asked Finn if the coffee was any good here, and he had no idea. He either gets these crazy Italian sodas, lime and things like that, or -"

"Hot chocolate," finished Carl, a little smile on his face. "Yes, I know."

Kurt blushed. Of course Carl did. He and Finn had come down here almost every weekend for months in the spring, singing with Blaine. Before Carl had met Ms. Pillsbury. He eyed the gold band on Carl's left hand with mounting frustration. _Everything was complicated last spring, but at least we were happy. Now... it's all slipping away. I can't hold on to any of it. _

Carl touched his arm. "It's okay."

"No," said Kurt. "I don't really think it is. It hasn't been for a long time."

He tipped his head to one side, considering. "No? How's your dad doing?"

"He's a lot better..." Kurt paused, then sighed at Carl's wry grin. "Okay. Maybe it is okay. I mean... do you think things can be awful and okay at the same time?"

"I think they usually are like that," said Carl. From his expression, Kurt guessed Carl knew precisely what he was talking about. He closed his eyes and tried to accept that reality.

When he opened them again, there was an African-American woman standing at the counter before him. There wasn't a hint of a smile on her face. He had to make an effort not to retreat before that regard. He didn't need an introduction to know who she was.

"Let me guess," she said, her voice low and smooth. "You're Kurt."

"Um." He glanced at Carl, who nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Her wide, expressive mouth twitched. "Finn's not a big talker, but we spent enough time together over the summer. He's given me more than an earful about you. What can I get you?"

"Grande nonfat mocha," said Carl, setting a couple bills on the counter. "Coffee for me."

She didn't even look at it as she turned to start the espresso machine. "You know your money's no good here, so you might as well put it away now."

Carl smiled again, but it was softer this time. "I won't stop trying."

"That's because Tess taught you right. How's married life treating you?"

Kurt didn't miss the dark look that passed over Carl, but he recovered quickly enough. _This is him, being okay,_ he realized. "Probably as well as you would have expected."

She laughed, without one change in her expression. "I bet you're right." She slid Carl's coffee across to him, watching Kurt. "About as well as I expect Finn's handling this year?"

Kurt knew he didn't have to lie to Irene. Now that she and Carole were talking again, he knew Irene was getting all the information she wanted about Finn. It was something of a relief to see she wasn't angry at Carl, or if she had been, at least she wasn't anymore. If there had ever been a time Finn needed Carl's support, it was now... but he couldn't require that of him. Their relationship always had been a mutual choice; he and Finn had never had a commitment or expectations for the future. But Kurt wasn't going to pull any punches in front of Carl, either.

"He's hurting every day," he said. "He's strong, and he's dealing with it, but I don't think happy is really in his vocabulary right now."

Carl looked away, picking up his coffee and returning to their table. The coffeeshop was starting to fill up. Irene watched him go with a little frown.

"That's a whole fucking lot of unhappiness, right there," she said. "And I'm arrogant enough to think I could solve the whole lot of it with a little judicious application of leather."

Kurt was startled into a laugh. Her solemn brown eyes shone even as her face stayed impassive.

"I - sometimes think about it," he admitted. "I could cross all kinds of lines of consent, but... I've seen how bad that can be. And I'm not going to do that."

"No," she agreed. "I'm not either. But it's comforting to know I'm not the only one who sees it. And I'm not above a phone call to Tess, either, because _she_ has permission."

He felt warm inside, the way she was talking to him. It was the same way Gaga had spoken with them when they'd visited, for all she'd been much closer to them in age. Like a fellow adult; like what he said and thought mattered. He accepted his coffee, wrapping his hand around the cardboard heat protector, covering the glass.

"Finn's managing," he said. He looked at the empty stage. "But Blaine..."

Her lips tightened, following his gaze. "You'll have to watch him and decide that for yourself. And Kurt... remember, he's _Patrick_ here. Not Blaine."

Kurt nodded, remembering Blaine's stage name. It had been months since they'd put the pieces together, figured out that Finn's Patrick was the same as Puck's boy at the bar, and the same as the boy who'd auditioned for RENT with Kurt and Mr. Schue and Toby and Shelby. _So much has happened since then._ "Does that mean he gets to be any more himself?"

"I don't think so." She shrugged, leaning on the counter on crossed arms. "But maybe he doesn't have to hide in quite the same way."

There was so much he wanted to tell Irene, but he couldn't help but feel grateful for the way she was treading carefully around the minefield of issues with which they were dealing. She hadn't said one word about Puck, which was good. Tonight would be hard enough as it was. He reached for something easy.

"Darius did a great job in RENT," he said.

The smile that bloomed on her face was almost more intimidating than her scowl. He let out a little nervous laugh.

"That boy," she said, shaking her head. "He'll be the death of me. His momma never did understand him. But he's chock full of talent." She nodded at Kurt. "_You_ did a great job, too."

"Oh - you came?" It shouldn't have been a surprise. Of course Irene would come to see her cousin perform, and Blaine.

"Darius, he had nothin' but nice things to say about you. I think he was impressed with the way you boys handled your triad." She gestured at the stage. "He'll be out in a few; you should go get settled if you don't want to draw attention to yourself."

Kurt decided a hug over the top of the counter would be too weird, but he gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you. For everything you've done for Finn, and Blaine."

"I love them too." The statement was simple, matter-of-fact. She didn't say _he's like my son, _or anything like that, but everything implicit in those four words made him pause and blink his eyes a few times before he headed back to their table.

Carl shifted his battered guitar case under the table, surveying the room. "The girl in the front," he said, pointing. "She's here every week. And the boys in the back, but don't turn and look at them, they'll get nervous."

The warmth that had been kindled by his conversation with Irene expanded inside him. He felt that familiar possessive sensation, the one that usually accompanied memories of Blaine. "He has fans," he said softly.

"Damn right he has fans." Carl's voice was mild, but he wasn't fooling Kurt. That was a relief, too. Carl had been Blaine's friend through all of this, and the fact that he was here at all, that he'd continued to come to this place that held such intense memories of Finn, just to give Blaine something familiar to hang on to - that meant something. "If you give me your phone, I'll take the video. You shouldn't have to be distracted by technology, not tonight."

Kurt smiled to himself; he knew how Carl felt about _technology._ He showed Carl what to press to start and stop the video, hoping it would come out okay. Finn needed to see this as much as Kurt himself did. Even if he couldn't be here in person, the video would be something.

And then the door opened again, to the jingle of bells, and Kurt watched as Patrick walked in.

_His hair,_ he wanted to say. He fumbled for Carl's hand without even thinking about it, grasping it tight. _His eyes, and his hands, and that shirt, and god, his hair._

"He's different," he managed to whisper. Carl nodded.

"Patrick," he said. "Even if he can't be himself, he gets to be this, once a week."

Blaine set the guitar case down on the stage, nodding and smiling at the people who greeted him. His eyes passed over Carl and Kurt as though they weren't there, but Kurt had known to expect that. For Blaine, they wouldn't be there. They couldn't be, or he couldn't cope. It was what he needed to do, to get through his father's sentence: _If you try to see Finn or Puck again, I'm taking you out of school. _It was only luck that had kept him from finding out about Kurt, too.

Kurt made himself watch Blaine as he set his guitar case to the side and sat down at the piano, brushing his untamed hair out of his face. His neck was bare, released from his customary tie. That felt almost worse than anything, to see that. Kurt wondered if it hurt Patrick as much as it hurt Blaine to be without that protective clothing.

"Hey," said Blaine into the microphone. Kurt flinched, and Carl squeezed his hand once more before turning his attention to holding the phone steady. There was a scattered _hey_ from the audience, and a few claps. Blaine's smile was sweet. "How's everybody doing tonight?"

"Do Kid Fears," called one voice from the back. Blaine shook his head, his smile fading.

"I have a new one tonight," he said. "Eliza Gilkyson. It's kind of been on constant repeat, these last couple weeks, and I think I might be ready to sing it now."

And then he looked at Kurt - he _looked at Kurt_ - and he nodded, once. Kurt felt his heart stop, stutter, and start again, double time.

"Did he just -" he whispered.

"I'll be damned." Carl let the phone drop for a moment, and he stared at Kurt. "That was... unexpected."

It was all Kurt could do not to stand up and rush the stage. Blaine had seen him. He'd _seen _him, and he was still there, on the stage, calmly settling himself in front of the piano, letting his fingers skate over the keys.

Kurt felt his hands shaking. "I don't know what to do."

"Just listen. I think that's what he needs right now." Carl propped the phone up, pointing it at Blaine on the stage, trying to keep it steady.

Blaine played the opening bars, leaning in to the microphone, and began to sing.

_ www. youtube watch?v=UxhgrsNA7HA_

_Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow  
__Thou art with me  
__Though my heart's been torn on fields of battle  
__Thou art with me  
__Though my trust is gone and my faith not near  
__In love's sanctuary  
__Thou art with me_

He sounded a lot less different than Kurt had expected. The style of music was different from the music Blaine had performed with Kurt all summer on the stage, and it wasn't anything like what he'd been told the Warblers did at Dalton. But it was still Blaine, still his same clear, confident voice. And the lyrics... by the end of the first verse, Kurt had stopped trying to hold back the tears.

_Through desolation's fire and fear's dark thunder  
__Thou art with me  
__Through the sea of desires that drag me under  
__Thou art with me  
__Though I've been traded in like a souvenir  
__In love's sanctuary  
__Thou art with me_

He wasn't making eye contact with anybody in the audience, but Kurt could see the concentration on his face as he played the instrumental bridge. He'd known Blaine could play the piano, had heard him a couple times at Toby's, but watching him perform, like this...

"That's him," said Kurt fiercely. "He's _right there,_ Carl. That's not an act."

"No," Carl replied, his voice faint. "I think you're right."

The last verse was as straightforward as the others had been, but Kurt found himself singing harmony under his breath. He realized Carl was doing the same.

_Through the doubter's gloom and the cynic's sneer  
__Thou art with me  
__In the crowded rooms of a mind unclear  
__Thou art with me  
__Though I'll walk for a while down a trail of tears  
__In love's sanctuary  
__Thou art with me  
__In love's sanctuary  
__Thou art with me  
__In love's sanctuary  
__Thou art with me_

Carl stopped recording as the applause swelled and filled the room, setting the phone on the table. Kurt captured it and stowed it safely in his pocket. Finn wasn't going to believe this without evidence. And Blaine was still there, on stage, accepting the audience's reaction with patient nods. He was _still there._ Kurt turned to Carl in desperation.

"I don't think I can leave without finding out -"

"Go on." Carl sounded resigned. "Worst possibility, he won't acknowledge you."

Kurt stood, pushing his chair back, and moved through the seated crowd to approach the stage. Blaine was opening his guitar case, apparently getting ready for his next song, but when he saw Kurt, he paused.

"Did you hear it?" he asked. The question was calm, almost offhanded, but he met Kurt's eyes, and waited for the answer.

"I heard," Kurt said. "I - I wanted you to know. I'm taking it home with me."

There was a flash on Blaine's face, one that could have been pain, but it was hard to tell. "Thank you." He smiled at Kurt, just for a moment, before returning to tuning his guitar.

Kurt waited another moment, but when that was all, he nodded, turning to go.

"Kurt."

He snapped his gaze back up to Blaine's, holding his breath.

"I haven't forgotten." He looked grim, like it was costing him something to say it. "None of it. You can tell... I wanted you to know."

Kurt nodded, fumbling for words, but eventually gave up. _I have to touch you. Please, let me hold you. Come back to us._ None of it was possible, and words would just make a mess of this moment - which, after all, was more than he'd ever expected he would get.

He made it back to the table, sat down, and concentrated on breathing for a few minutes while Blaine strummed the opening chords to his next song. It didn't matter what it was. Kurt had heard him, loud and clear.


	3. First Visit (PuckFinn)

_(Author's note: In honor of Pinn Week 2013 (starting May 15), I've written this little Donutverse story about the first time Finn came over to Noah's house. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

February 2003

Noah hung up the phone. He hadn't bothered to try to placate Davey when he'd called to tell him he wasn't going to be his friend anymore for the third time. Sure, maybe Davey was pissed for a good reason, but that didn't change the fact that Finn was better at dodgeball than Davey was. Davey always got way too worked up and yelled at the people who were throwing at him, and that slowed him down enough that he got hit, and then he took ages to calm down in the penalty box. But Finn used strategy; he'd consider the situation, then target the most aggressive players and decimate their offense. Naturally Noah was going to pick him first, and if Davey couldn't deal with it, he could bite his butt. Anyway, Davey was just going to end up at the stupid library reading his stupid books with his stupid friend from Lima Heights; Noah was the one who was going to end up with nothing to do but play Chutes and Ladders with Sarah.

Only... he gnawed his lip. Maybe he could call Finn. Finn wasn't a school friend yet - although, maybe now that Noah had picked him in dodgeball, he could justify it - but he was sort of a home friend, or the beginning of one. He'd gone to the mall with him that one time to see _Shrek,_ and even though Meemee had been over forty-five minutes late to pick them up, it had still been kind of awesome, hanging out there together. But having him over to his house... that had the potential to be dangerous.

Noah made his way down the hallway, being careful not to bump anything, and with infinite care opened the door to his parents' bedroom. His dad was still sprawled in the same position he'd seen him in a half hour ago, which was encouraging. If he wasn't awake and yelling yet, maybe they could keep him sleeping off his hangover all morning. Finn wasn't all that loud. It could work. And, yeah, he knew he was justifying things, but fuck it.

He closed the door silently and returned to the phone in the kitchen, eyeing the enormous book with the white pages with trepidation. Meemee was shoveling Mrs. Henderson's driveway, so he couldn't exactly ask him.

"Sarah," he said softly. It was enough, between the two of them. He didn't have to yell for her, not in the morning. She appeared beside him seconds later. He thumbed through the book, grimacing. "Can you help me find HUDSON, CAROLE somewhere on this page?"

Sarah was only five, but she knew her alphabet and how to sound out some words. They puzzled it out together, and when it came time to make the call, he didn't chase her away. "I thought Davey was coming over," she whispered.

"He was being a dick. This'll be okay."

She looked doubtful. "Does he know about dad?"

"All we have to do is tell him he has to be quiet. We don't have to say why. He'll go along with it." Finn was a rule-follower; Noah had been able to tell that from the very first day he'd been transferred into Finn's second-grade class last year. Rule-followers were boring, but Finn wasn't, somehow.

There was a click as the call connected. "Hello, this is Carole."

He cleared his throat. "Um... this is Noah Puckerman? From Finn's class? Could he come over to play?"

"Oh!" She sounded surprised, but not upset. "Noah? Is your mother there?"

"She's at work. My dad's here, though, and my big brother."

"Could I speak to your dad?"

Noah knew the words to say by now. "He can't come to the phone right now. I could tell you how to get to my house. We're at 848 Murphy."

"Oh, that's just a few blocks from our house. Finn could walk over. I'll ask him. Would you hold on a moment?"

He picked at the scab on his elbow while he waited restlessly for her to come back to the phone. Sarah poked him. "Is he coming?"

"I don't know yet. Put the breakfast dishes in the sink, would you?" He surveyed the kitchen and family room with dismay. They were going to have to clean up some of this stuff.

"Noah?" He turned his attention back to the phone. "Finn would be happy to come over. He should come home at noon for lunch. When would you like him to arrive?"

"Anytime's good. We're just hanging out here. And I can make him lunch." He could have kicked himself the second the words were out of his mouth, because dude, nobody_ else_ in the third grade made lunch for their friends.

But Mrs. Hudson just said, "That's very generous of you, Noah. You'd be welcome to come here for lunch if you prefer."

"Well, uh... thanks. My little sister's here, and my big brother, and we kind of... we've got food here."

Noah didn't usually care what the house looked like, but it was suddenly really obvious that the ashtrays full of roach clips and empty beer bottles weren't the kind of thing that would be okay to have around when rule-follower Finn Hudson came over. He directed Sarah in a kind of silent whirlwind to pick up bottles and hide them in the laundry room while he did dishes.

Finn arrived minutes after Meemee got home, while he was still taking off his snow boots. Noah took his coat and hung it up while Sarah peeked at him from around the half-wall in the kitchen. Meemee stared at Noah with annoyance.

"You know you guys are going to have to be quiet," he said. "No tv. Our dad's sick."

Finn looked startled, but he nodded. "It's fine. We can keep it down."

Meemee disappeared into his room. Before Noah could suggest they do the same, Sarah was there, tugging on Noah's hand. "Will you play a game with me?"

"Finn doesn't want to play a stupid baby game," Noah muttered, because even though that would have been okay to do if they were there alone, it wasn't cool to play with your five-year-old sister.

But Finn just grinned, looking over at the pieces to _Chutes and Ladders_ arrayed on the coffee table. "I don't mind. Can I be the boy piece?"

They played for a half hour, keeping their voices low even when they landed on a good ladder. He didn't draw attention to the packet of rolling papers sitting on the table next to them, missed in the process of straightening up. Finn didn't appear to know what they were, and Noah wasn't going to enlighten him. Noah won, but Finn was a good loser and gave him a quiet high-five.

"I'm sorry your dad's sick," said Finn.

"He's sick a lot," Sarah agreed. Noah wasn't going to argue. He watched Finn move toward his dad's guitar, propped in the corner against his amp. They weren't supposed to touch the guitar, but Finn looked impressed, and that made Noah want to show off a little.

"I can play Yellow Submarine."

"Yeah?" Finn smiled, while Noah puffed out his chest.

"Yeah. It's pretty easy. I could teach you, if you want."

Sarah watched Noah take the guitar with round, scared eyes. "Noah..."

"He's not awake," he interrupted. "And he's not gonna find out. We won't plug in the amp."

The action on his dad's electric was so much easier than on his acoustic, even after they'd filed down the bridge to bring it down for Noah's small fingers. Finn's hands were bigger; he didn't have any trouble reaching the strings for the C chord, but trying to get him to bend his fingers to do the G was more complicated.

"If you play it with your last three fingers instead of the first three, it's easier to switch to the other chords more quickly," he said, bending over Finn's neck. "Here." He reached around him from behind, holding his fingers on the fretboard. "See how much faster it is?"

"Hey, I'm doing it!" Finn flubbed the E minor, but he caught his mistake and fixed it right away. "In a towwwwwwn... where I was borrrrn..."

Sarah sang along under her breath, and Noah didn't have to remind Finn once to keep it down. There were advantages to being a rule-follower, he guessed. At the end, Noah took the guitar and played him the songs he'd been practicing. Finn knew "No Rain" by Blind Melon and "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," but when he got to "Leavin' on a Jet Plane," he stayed quiet, just listening to Noah singing. It made his legs tingle to see Finn watching him with that expression on his face.

"You're a good singer," he said.

"You, too," Sarah told Finn.

"That's what my mom's boyfriend said." He made a face. "I really want to play the drums, but... so far, no money for lessons. My mom said if she gets this promotion at work, maybe I could take some lessons. I've been asking her for them for three years. I have a kit, now, though." After a moment, he added, "Maybe tomorrow you could come over and see it? You could bring your guitar and we could jam."

"Yeah?" Noah almost said _yes,_ without even asking, but he knew it would depend on how his dad was doing. "That'd be awesome. I'll have to check with my Ma and let you know."

Sarah tugged on his sleeve. "I'm hungry."

Finn perked up at the word, which made Noah grin, but he hesitated. "Your mom said you could decide if you wanted to go home for lunch, or stay here."

Finn shrugged. "I'd rather stay, if you don't mind making lunch. Seems like a lot of work."

"Noah's a good cook," Sarah assured him.

"It's nothing much," he protested, but she was already shoving him toward the kitchen, Finn following along behind.

"It's awesome. Can we have sweet potato fries with yoli?"

"Aioli, squirt." Noah turned on the oven and avoided Finn's curious look. How was he going to explain that homemade mayonnaise tasted so much better than the stuff in the jar, and he'd worked hard to perfect his recipe, and he'd never buy that pre-made shit again?

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Noah never lets anybody help," Sarah said.

"It's okay," he told Finn. "It's usually easier if I do everything myself. But you could wash the sweet potatoes, if you want."

Finn stood at the sink, watching while Noah showed him how to scrub one of the sweet potatoes. It felt way too easy, like any second Finn might start making fun of him, but he didn't. He just asked Sarah about school and how old she was and what she liked to do, and ignored the bruise on her cheek.

Noah gathered all his ingredients, blended oil with cinnamon and other stuff, then sliced the sweet potatoes and covered them with the oil and spice mixture. Finn settled down at the table, observing Noah working with interest.

"There's chicken salad," Noah offered, "or roast beef and prosciutto, with this awesome mustard..."

_Now_ Finn laughed, but it wasn't in a mean way. He sounded a little surprised, though. "It's like going to a restaurant," he said. "We don't eat stuff like that at home."

Noah tried not to bristle, shoving the two parts of the blender together and "Yeah, well, if you were hoping for hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly, you might as well go eat someplace else."

"No, I was... no." Finn's voice was gentle. "It's good. Thank you. I'd love some chicken salad. I don't even know what prosciutto is."

While the sweet potato fries baked, Noah got a little taste of it out of the fridge and gave it to Finn. He layered the chicken salad on bread and watched, somewhat breathless, as Finn ate it in about ten enormous bites.

"s'good," he mumbled through a full mouth, and swallowed, grinning. "Thanks."

It wasn't until all the sweet potato fries and aioli had been consumed, along with a pecan tart Noah had been experimenting with, that they began to hear noises from the hallway. Sarah scampered back and forth. "It's dad," she said. "He's awake."

"Oh." Finn glanced anxiously at Noah. "TIme for me to go?"

"Yeah, probably," he said, reluctantly pushing in his chair. "I'll... thanks for coming."

Finn slipped his boots on, shoving his hat down on top of his head. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Maybe. I'll have to let you know."

Noah guessed the answer would be no, but it didn't matter. Watching Finn trudge through the slush and into the neighbor's back yard on his way home was something of a revelation. _I was just me. Not the badass, or the jock, or the fuckup. Just... me. And Finn liked me anyway. _

Sarah leaned her head against Noah. "I like him."

"Yeah," said Noah softly. "I do, too."


End file.
